


Seconds

by project_icarus



Series: Mouse Trap [2]
Category: Biohazard | Resident Evil (Gameverse)
Genre: Cunnilingus, F/M, POV Third Person Limited, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Reader-Insert, Shameless Smut, Vaginal Sex, no y/n
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-17
Updated: 2020-03-17
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:40:17
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23179366
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/project_icarus/pseuds/project_icarus
Summary: She can’t stop thinking about him, like she’s some hopeless high school girl with a crush on the hot teacher. Sometimes when she overhears the clucking hens at the reception desk, giggling amongst themselves over trying to guess Dr Wesker’s brand of cologne, a smug smile creeps onto her face. Forget his cologne, she knows what his tongue tastes like.
Relationships: Albert Wesker/Reader
Series: Mouse Trap [2]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1666318
Comments: 9
Kudos: 126





	Seconds

Something big is in the works at Umbrella. All the higher-ups are rushed off their feet, excited and stressed in equal measure, and Dr Wesker is no exception. He’s been more than busy, in and out of meetings or off site altogether, working at other, more secure facilities.

The few times she’s caught sight of him in the labs or corridors, his face has been unreadable, his sunglasses reflecting her hopeful expression as she glances his way, but they haven’t spoken. It’s been two weeks since she took him home with her that night, and they’ve managed nothing save a ‘good morning’ between them since. It’s not like she expected him to change the way he treats her, but she is concerned for him. The long hours must take their toll.

If only she had the clearance to know what’s going on. It’s driving her crazy not being able to help him, almost as much as not seeing him is.

She can’t stop thinking about him, like she’s some hopeless high school girl with a crush on the hot teacher. Having (or perhaps _being_ ) a dirty little secret is so thrilling. Sometimes when she overhears the clucking hens at the reception desk, giggling amongst themselves over trying to guess Dr Wesker’s brand of cologne, a smug smile creeps onto her face. Forget his cologne, she knows what his tongue feels like in her mouth. She knows what his cock tastes like.

And if she now wears a full garter belt and stockings to work every day and daydreams about him fucking her in them whilst her computer runs its simulations, that’s no one’s business but her own.

She’s rectifying the situation tonight, regardless. He’s in the building, holed up in the Hot Labs all day and working late as ever. She’ll go down there and find out if she can be of use to him.

Everyone else has left, even the more dedicated researchers have deemed it past time to clock out, but not her. She’s on a mission. She takes the elevator down a level to the basement labs, swiping her key card to gain access—her limited clearance gets her this far, at least—and makes her way down the pearly corridor, her pounding heart drowning out the sound of her heels clicking.

Before she reaches the contamination checkpoints, the smell of fresh coffee assails her, and she stops to glance inside the break room.

Dr Wesker’s standing at the coffee machine with his back to her, his broad shoulders slumped in a rare moment of him having his guard down. She frowns. He’ll work himself to death.

She knocks on the open door to announce her presence and steps into the room. He turns around, coffee cup in hand, and raises an eyebrow when he sees her.

“What are you doing down here?” He fixes his posture in an instant, standing straight and raising his chin. The fluorescent lights overhead glint off his high cheekbones, illuminating the dark circles under his eyes.

She can’t stand his steely blue gaze for more than a second, and looks away, shy. “I’m finished for the day and I heard you were in. I just wanted to see if you needed anything.”

“Anything?” His voice lilts on the question, inviting, but his face betrays nothing.

She meets his eyes again, forcing herself to survive the contact. “Anything.”

His mouth quirks. He puts his cup down on the counter, advancing into her personal space. “Always so eager to please, aren’t you, mouse?”

_Mouse._ That’s what he called her on that stormy night when they were together. So he remembers! She almost thought he’d forgotten all about it, one inconsequential encounter in what must be many, but maybe it keeps him awake at night, too. Maybe he lies there alone and frustrated just like she does, with no company but her own hand and her memories. Maybe… not.

She closes the distance between them, gripping the lapels of his white lab coat in her hands. “Take me back to your place tonight.”

He kisses her, the wet sound echoing off the clinical walls, and her heart jumps into her throat. When you lay yourself down like a dog for someone, there’s always a chance you’ll get kicked, but not today, it seems.

He pushes her away. “I have to get some things from my office.”

“Yeah, I left my stuff up in the research lab.” Her voice wavers just enough to betray her building excitement.

“Meet me in the underground parking lot, by the elevator.” He strides past her and leaves the room.

“Okay.” She watches him go, her heart sighing.

It’s worried her that he might have thought she was only good for one go, that she was foolish to pine after him, but it looks like he might have wanted her again. He’s just been too busy.

She snaps out of her girlish musings and scuttles back to her lab to collect her effects, hanging her lab coat up with the others before returning to the elevator. It’s hard, but she manages not to grin like an idiot the entire time, even if the excited spring in her step goes unchecked.

Dr Wesker is nowhere in sight when she arrives in the parking lot, and she’s struck by the horrible thought he’s gone home without her and left her there, but then she spies his black Rolls Royce still parked in one of the reserved spaces.

Someone on another floor calls the elevator away, and her anticipation climbs along with it as she waits for him. With a _ding_ the doors open, and he walks straight past her to his car, briefcase in hand, his long black coat swishing behind him.

“Come on, mouse,” he says, not looking back at her.

He’s impossible to read, and she never quite knows where she stands with him, but while he’s feeling magnanimous enough to tolerate her presence, she will devour every single scrap of affection he offers.

She scurries after him, letting herself into the passenger side once he unlocks the doors. The interior of the car is a familiar sight to her now, and the luxurious leather of her seat already feels like home. He casts his briefcase into the backseat and joins her in the front, buckling in and putting the key in the ignition. They leave the parking lot, driving up the ramps until they reach street level, and in moments they’re cruising past the bus stop where he rescued her two weeks ago.

“Something on your mind?” He glances at her, catching her smiling to herself.

_Everything._ Shyness creeps across her skin, much to her chagrin. She’s fantasised about this moment so often, but now that she’s here she can’t find the words to speak. She’s so goddamn smitten with him, it’s like he’s tied her tongue in a cherry-knot.

“What’s the matter?” He grins. “Cat got your tongue?”

His eyes are full of wicked amusement, the tiredness that clouded them earlier all but forgotten. She laughs, nervous and breathy, and pretends to relax into her seat, leaning her head against the rest.

“I was just thinking about that night.” She closes her eyes, trying to let the smooth rumble of the engine lull her into calmness. “When you gave me a ride.”

He chuckles. “You were certainly very appreciative.”

“I was.” Her entire body must be bright red now, between the embarrassment and throbbing arousal. She squeezes her thighs together, the lacy bands of her stockings providing frustrating friction against her skin. “I still am.”

“Hm.” His posture loosens a fraction. “I do enjoy your appreciation.”

Would it be too much if she started rocking back and forth in her seat? At this rate, she'll leave a wet patch behind. “It’s a good thing I have lots to be thankful for, then.”

“Hold on to that.” The ghost of a pleased smile haunts his lips.

He rolls his head from side to side, easing out his tense neck muscles. She longs to dig her elbow in deep between his shoulder blades and work out all the knots there, but she gets the feeling he’d maul her like a tiger for trying. If she’s a mouse, he’s a cat, and you have to let cats seek affection on their own terms. Everyone knows that.

The pops of colour from the city lights blur and dart away as the car zips along the streets, and then they’re in a part of town she’s never been to—the nicer part. Of course, he lives in one of these high-rises, no doubt somewhere up near the very top. She’s been so focussed on what they'll do once they get there, she's given no thought to the place itself, and now she’s downright giddy. It’s like an educational field trip; a man’s home must reveal something about the man himself, and she so wants to learn.

They pass several swanky apartment buildings before slowing outside one more mid-range looking—still fancy enough to make her embarrassed he’s seen where she lives, but the view on the drive here has spoiled her. They sidle up to the parking garage’s barrier, and Dr Wesker holds a pass card out of the window up to a machine. There’s a beep, and the barrier rises, and they descend into the underground garage.

He has a reserved spot here too, and he slides the car into it with ease. She mirrors him as he gets out, waiting as he collects his briefcase, and follows him across the well-lit concrete towards the elevators.

They step into the elevator together, and the instant the doors close on them, he drops his case with a thud and shoves her up against the wall. Before the back of her skull makes contact with the metal, his hand tangles in her hair, cushioning her from the blow. His mouth claims hers, hot and greedy, and his other hand snakes its way up under her shirt.

It’s like he’s plugged her into a power outlet, all of her senses coming online, and she kisses him back with fierce passion, her hands coming around his back and fisting in the fabric of his coat.

His fingertips graze over the cup of her bra, and she just wants to hike her skirt up and show him what she’s wearing underneath, but then he pulls away altogether. He grins at her mussed hair, and retrieves his briefcase from the floor as the elevator doors open.

“This way,” he says, and she trots along after him down the plush corridors, feeling like she'll leave smutty footprints on the shiny floors. She doesn’t belong here, and she doesn’t belong with him, but she wants to. Oh, god, she wants to.

They come to a halt outside Dr Wesker’s apartment, and his keys jangle in the lock before he pushes open the door and flicks on the light inside. He holds the door for her, and she ducks past him, finding herself in a little entryway. The door clicks closed behind them with a menacing finality, and for all her curiosity about the man’s home, now that she’s here she can’t make herself look up from the floor.

There are a series of clunks behind her as he kicks off his shoes and dumps his briefcase, and some rustling. “Give me your coat,” he says.

“Oh. Thanks.” She shrugs out of her jacket and turns around, handing it over.

He hangs it up beside his on the stand in the corner, and when he faces her again, there’s burning purpose in his eyes. He takes her by the arm, his strong fingers closing around her wrist, and leads her through a door off the foyer. They cross his kitchen, the empty countertops gleaming even in the low light, and past the living room where the shadowy shape of a sofa sits amongst several cardboard boxes. Is he moving house?

No time to ponder that, though, because the next door he pushes open leads to his bedroom. The cityscape outside lights the room through the open blinds, enough to see the lack of clutter or personal items in this most personal of rooms. He pulls her inside, and she gives no resistance, slipping her body close to his and winding her arms around his neck. She kisses him like a good girl should, sweet and close-mouthed, and he retaliates by grabbing her ass in both hands and squeezing, kissing her mouth open and sliding his tongue against hers.

She’ll have to feel him out a little more before she’s perfect for him, but she files this information away for future reference; he doesn’t want her to be coy. She remembers what he said that night. There’s only one thing he wants from her.

He pushes her towards the bed, keeping her wrapped up in his consuming kiss, and she goes along, lowering onto the dark sheets and letting him climb on top of her. His body covers hers, and her legs part just enough for him to lie between them, and he does, grinding his hips down into hers. She gasps and hangs on to him, one of her hands in his hair, the other around his back, gripping to his shoulder blade.

He kisses down her neck, trapping her beneath his weight, and his hot breath on her skin makes her squirm in all the right ways. She tugs at the back of his shirt, and he rears up onto his knees, undoing his buttons with quick, sharp movements, and then throws the garment onto the floor.

The thought of Dr Wesker’s crisp, pressed white shirt lying on the ground in a crumpled heap sends a rush of lust right through her. There’s something in him, like a great white shark lurking just beneath the surface of a calm ocean, and all she wants to do is cast aside her self-preservation and go scuba diving.

He’s beautiful, with sinewy muscle strapped to his broad frame, and she can tell it would take no effort for him to throw her across the room if he wanted to. If she deserved it.

He shoves her top up past her bra, then yanks the cups down to expose her breasts, his eyes gleaming in the light of the cityscape outside as he stares down at her. She swallows, self-conscious under the scrutiny, and he ducks his head and sucks one of her pert nipples into his mouth.

She arches her back and cards her fingers through his hair, holding him to her breast and sighing. He makes a quiet noise in the back of his throat, like a snarl, and pulls away, looming over her. Then he takes one of her hands in his and guides it up past the pillows to the metal bedframe. He closes her fingers around one of the support posts in the headboard, then does the same to her other hand.

“Keep your hands here until I tell you to let go. All right?”

The order makes her wet, but it’s the unexpected kindness of his question that weakens her. She swallows, squeezing the cold metal with her hands. “All right.”

He grins at her before pouncing, resuming his actions and running his tongue over her nipple. Her first instinct is to cling to him again, but she taps into that bleak place inside of her that only wants to do as she’s told and hangs on tighter to the bed.

He kisses a wet line down her sternum and over her tummy, and she holds her breath as at last he forces up her skirt and finds what she’s wearing underneath.

“Oh? What’s this?” He laughs, a glorious pleased sound that’s so different from the derisive ways she’s heard him laugh before. His hands smooth up her satin-clad thighs, giving them a possessive squeeze.

“Do… do you like them?” She smiles up at the ceiling, preening under his attention as his hands explore the straps of her garter belt.

“I do.” He snaps the elastic against her skin, soft as a whisper. “Did you wear these for me?”

“Yes.” She answers him without a second thought, like she’s obeying another of his commands with no room for bashfulness.

“Good.” He tugs her panties down her legs, stopping to remove her shoes and toss them aside, both of them landing with dual thumps on the carpet, then he finishes removing her underwear.

She shivers with excitement, and he scoots down the bed onto his stomach and pushes her thighs further apart, prompting her to bring her feet up onto the mattress to give him more room. His hands find purchase on the bands of her stockings, and then his hot, slick tongue licks a long line from her centre up to her clit.

“ _Oh!”_ She can’t help moaning while he tongues her clit, shifting on the sheets and white-knuckle gripping the bedframe like it’ll stop her from flying apart into a thousand pieces.

He eats her pussy like she imagines he does everything else in his life; with thorough tenacity. He uses the wide flat of his tongue to lick her open, then focusses in on her clit with the tip, firm presses alternated with faint flickers to keep her guessing. The intense determination he employs with his face between her legs is so unlike the unenthusiastic lapping she’s suffered through in the past, and she’ll never be able to go back. She’s ruined now for all other men—she doesn’t want anyone else for as long as she lives.

She scrunches her eyes shut as he swirls his tongue around her clit, her heart banging against her ribs as she reaches higher and higher for her climax. It would be so nice to just reach down and curl her fingers in his hair, writhing around in abandon as he makes her come with his mouth, but she won’t. He doesn’t want her to. He wants her to do as she’s told, and she wants to scratch that itch for him like no one else ever has or will. She'll be the best damn version of herself she can be for him, even if it kills her.

She adjusts her grip on the posts, flexing her arms and settling in for the home run. His oft-clenched jaw will tire soon, so she lets her mind jump around, conjuring up sweet memories and images to help tip her over the edge. He speeds up the movements of his tongue and snaps the strap of her stockings against her skin again, this time sharp enough to sting, but it’s the memory of the pleasure on his face when she swallowed around his cock two weeks ago that makes her core clench as she comes.

She groans, her nerve endings tingling, and he tongues her right the way through her orgasm, but he doesn’t allow her to fall limp against the sheets, oh no. He doesn’t let up one bit, and when her legs shake from the overstimulation, he just squeezes her thighs tighter in his hands.

“Fuck!” She’s dying to shove his face away from her too-sensitive cunt, but she clasps the headboard harder, her hair sticking to the back of her sweaty neck. All of a sudden, he stops and pulls away, and she collapses like a puppet with its strings cut, her chest heaving.

He wipes his mouth and crawls back up her body, grinning like the cat that caught the little mouse. “Well done. You didn’t let go once.”

She glows inside. “You told me not to.”

He kisses her, his mouth frantic against hers, his tongue tasting of her, and he grinds down into her hips. “I didn’t even have to threaten to tie you up with my belt,” he murmurs.

Fresh want gnaws in her belly. “Next time.”

“You can let go now.” He strips her of her shirt and bra once she relaxes her arms and wastes no time dragging her skirt down her legs.

She’s got her hands free now, and there’s so much to explore. She takes his face in her hands and pulls him in for another kiss, and the heat of his skin on hers is sublime. He humours her for a few moments before backing off, and unbuckling his belt.

“Let me,” she whispers, and her hands replace his, pulling the belt through the loops and dropping it to the floor.

He lets her unzip his slacks, but he stares down at her the whole time, like she’s under supervision. She’s worked under his watch before, he is her boss, but this task is somehow more loaded and complicated than observing viral strains under a microscope. Her hands are awkward as she fumbles a little with his underwear, but her determination wins and she pushes the waistband down, pulling out his cock.

He’s hard in her hand and she buzzes with satisfaction to know that it’s for her. She squeezes him, tugs and rubs until he’s at full mast, and bites her lip against the ache of the specific emptiness within her that only he can fill.

He huffs and rolls off her, standing at the side of the bed to slip out of his remaining clothing. “I have condoms in the drawer there,” he says as he lifts his leg to remove his sock, his balance perfect.

“Right!” She turns onto her front and wriggles across to the other side of the bed. It’s too dark to see, so when she opens the little drawer she searches around inside with tentative fingers, like she’s poking around somewhere she shouldn’t be. Her fingertips brush the cool metal of something she doesn’t recognise right away, but then it hits her. It’s a gun.

“Is there a problem?” He climbs onto the bed behind her, naked now, fitting himself against her curves, and his hand comes up to push hers away so he can find the condoms himself.

“No.” She nestles into his touch, letting herself play pretend and imagine he’s embracing her, her mind wild. Has he ever had to use that handgun? Is it just for protection, or something else? She could ask, but would he tell her the truth?

She gazes up at the unfamiliar ceiling as he rolls on a condom, a hollow uneasiness settling in her chest. How much does she really know about this man she’s gone to bed with? She’s not a complete naïve little girl like some people seem to think; she knows that not everything Umbrella produces is medicinal, and that Dr Wesker is involved in a lot of that conspiracy-theory level stuff. She’s just not sure if she cares. It’s more that she knows she _should_ care, but the fact that he could be dangerous only makes her want him more. It’s not like there’s anything he can do to her she wouldn’t do to herself.

He trails his fingers down her side, making her jump, and his tongue traces the shell of her ear. She shivers, in an instant brought back to the present moment, with his hard body like a furnace pressed against her.

“I’m going to give you what you want,” he says into her ear, his hand squeezing her breast, his thumb circling over her nipple.

“Please.” She presses back into him, the hunger for him in between her thighs roaring front and centre once more.

He pushes her onto her back, taking his position between her parted legs, and pauses for a moment, studying her. She takes a breath, basking in his gaze. What does he see? Does he think she’s pretty? Does he enjoy the swell of her breasts, the dip of her waist?

He searches her face, and he must find what he’s looking for in her expression, because he smiles—a flash of his teeth in the dark—and hoists her legs up over his shoulders. She’s folded in half like a lawn chair, and he’s bearing down on her, shoving the air from her lungs. One of his hands thumps into the mattress by her head, and with the other he lines up his cock, the blunt head swiping a line down from her clit to her hole before sinking inside.

With hands on either side of her head now, he cants his hips forwards, spearing her on his cock. His breath huffs from his chest, and there’s tension coiled in his muscles as he fucks her, so deep it’s like he’s forcing out her heart and soul to make room for only him.

Her arms are outstretched like she’s crucified beneath him, clutching the comforter in trembling fists, and she groans under the onslaught. He never bothered to open her up with his fingers, but she’s wet enough that everything he does is just the right side of painful. His hipbones stab into the backs of her thighs with each thrust, and the fat base of his cock stretches her wide, the almost-pain turning her brain to mush.

He bares his teeth in a harsh snarl, staring down at her with a great intensity. It’s like she exists only in his eyes, in the tiny reflections in his pupils, and for no reason other than to please him.

“Oh, god.” Her toes curl in the air and sweat pools between her breasts, the rigorous drag of his cock against her g-spot tying her up in a tight love-knot.

“He won’t save you now.” His face softens into more of a grin, amusement crinkling his eyes for a moment before heat floods them again.

He pumps his hips faster, and it’s so intense she can’t even moan, it takes all of her effort to just keep breathing. With one hand he caresses her thigh, his fingers enamoured with the satin-smooth of her stockings, and he snaps the strap against her ass, the noise ringing out into the room.

His hand clasps the back of her knee, and he pushes her leg forward even more, the stretch burning. She should have kept up with her yoga.

When she next looks up at him, he’s got his head tilted down, and her face flushes with heat. He’s staring down her body, down to where they’re joined, where his cock drives into her fast and hard and deep. Emboldened by lust, she slips her hand between their bodies and gasps when her fingers find her still-tender clit.

He watches her tease herself, and grunts when her cunt tightens around him in pleasure. She'll make herself come again, but it’s for him, not her. The tightness, the spasming bliss, it’s all for his benefit.

He groans and starts fucking her faster, his hips spurred into a frenzy by her wanton moaning. Her other hand releases the sheets, and in the heat of the moment curls around his cheek, trying to bring his face in for a kiss. He resists at first, nipping at her thumb with his sharp teeth, but then he indulges her, bending her clean in two so his hot mouth can meet hers.

It’s too much. She can’t breathe, but she can’t stop either, her fingers flying over her clit whilst his tongue fucks her mouth and his thick cock barrels into her. It’s too good. She'll come undone.

Her fingers pinch the hair at the nape of his neck, holding him fast in their kiss, and for once he allows it, too wrapped up in his own pleasure to care about her manhandling. She moans into his mouth, loud and without restraint, the unbridled surge of her orgasm cascading through her pores.

He breaks the kiss, burying his face in her neck as his hips thump into her, revelling in the pulsing of her cunt. At last, just as she’s thinking she can’t take any more of his impassioned force, he goes still, as deep inside of her as he can get.

_“Fuck,”_ he groans, his voice shattered, so quiet she wouldn’t have heard it if he wasn’t right in her ear. It’s like music to her.

He starts to pull away, but she doesn’t let him get far. Her legs slip from his shoulders, curling around his waist, and she loops her arms around his neck and kisses him. He doesn’t hold her through the afterglow, but he kisses her back softly enough for her to imagine it’s with deliberate tenderness.

A moment later he breaks the spell, and extricates himself from her grasp, rolling to lie on his back beside her, his chest heaving. Her legs ache from exertion, and it’s difficult to get them to behave, but she inches herself closer to him without him noticing enough to move away. They bask for a few peaceful minutes.

“I read through your personnel file again today.” He turns his head on the pillow to face her. “It still doesn’t make any sense.”

Her underarms dampen with perspiration. She wasn’t expecting pillow talk, but she wasn’t expecting an impromptu performance review either. “What’s wrong with it, sir?”

He snorts at that before continuing. “You’ve been with the company for years, taken very little sick leave, and never missed a deadline. What I want to know is why they kept you stuck in that inconsequential little research lab until I recruited you a few weeks ago.”

She turns onto her side, leaning on her elbow. “I suppose you’d have to ask them.”

“I’m asking you. Why do you think you’ve been overlooked all this time?”

She picks at the sheets, avoiding his eyes. “It’s been said at varying times in my life, by various people, that I lack for ambition. And it’s true! But I don’t think it’s such a bad thing.”

“How so?”

“Not everyone can be in charge, right? I’m perfectly happy just… serving, I guess.” She manages a half-smile. “But it doesn’t matter now, does it? I’m working for you.”

He sighs and gazes back up at the ceiling. “We’ve worked very well together, little mouse, but it’s not to continue.”

“What? Why?”

As if he senses she’s about to launch into a string of questions, he holds up a hand to stop her. “I’m being transferred. I’ll be heading up a new project on the other side of Raccoon City next month, so we won’t be seeing much of each other after that.”

She swallows. “Oh. What kind of project is it? Will you not need researchers?”

“I can’t tell you, and no, I won’t.” He gets up from the bed. “We should get cleaned up and get some sleep. I’ll drive you home in the morning.” He disappears into the adjoining bathroom.

She frowns. If he thinks he can get rid of her that easily, he’s got another think coming.


End file.
